It wasn’t something you both planned. It just happened. To his utter panic.

You knew what Morpheus’ approach to children was. Especially to his children. Especially after what happened to Orpheus.

He thought himself inadequate to bear a role of a father again. And for most of your pregnancy he spend in his study — distancing himself from you and your unborn child.

Despite your anger and sadness, you understood — like a good wife would after all. You didn’t push, didn’t nag him or provoked any discussions. You just let him come to terms with inevitable arrival of future prince or princess of the Dreaming.

The birth of your daughter came suddenly, few weeks too early and either of you were ready. You remember the sweat that run down your forehead as you laid in bed, the strong pain and the way he barged into your chambers and Gods — he never saw him so startled in your life.

“She’s so small” he said, now hours later as you were laying tucked in the fresh sheets, glancing at him.

He was visibly stiff, propping your daughter’s head as she was laying on his knees. His fingers gently threading through the wild, black curls she came with, his thumbs occasionally smoothing the pale skin of her cheeks as she was almost sinking in the dark blue romper. She really was her father’s daughter — a carbon copy.